Free Pictures of the Past by Deby Eisenberg

grandfather.”
    Emanuel Berger nodded his head, already warming to his friend’s son. “Then, Taylor, I would like you to meet Mr. Richard Hammersmith. He is one of our British colleagues. Richard, please. This is Addison Woodmere’s son, Taylor.”
    Now Emanuel motioned toward the second man and continued. “And this is Monsieur Pierre Bouchet, our host for this evening.”
    After shaking each of their hands, Taylor stepped back, bent his head pensively, and then addressed the British gentleman. “Yes, Crown Industries with—metal cookware and leather goods, two factories, one under construction.”
    “Taylor, you have done your homework,” the man answered, putting his arm around the shoulder of Emanuel Berger. “As we discuss our international business relations, we are not naïve to problems that may lie ahead for our dear friend in Germany. We proceed with discussions as if all is normal—‘business as usual,’ but we assure Emanuel that whatever happens in his homeland, he will have a home with us.”
    “I do understand this. Again, as my father prepared me for the meetings, he did not skirt that issue.” And then Taylor addressed Monsieur Bouchet, but with a lighter note, further showing his easy eloquence. “My father spoke mainly about your food processing factories and the refitting of your packaging equipment to meet the needs of the military. But I was drawn to the success of your many vineyards and wonder how you can even work at all in a country with cafés beckoning you to sit and relax wherever you turn.”
    “You are right about that,” he acknowledged, and then his voice rose as he addressed the entire group. “Bonsoir, mes amis. Let us fill the wine glasses for our first toast for our conference.” He motioned for the waiter to begin pouring from his private stock, already displayed on a nearby table. Lifting his own glass high, he rotated his body in a semicircle. “To us—let us drink to our joint ventures promoting international commerce,” he began with a strong tone, but then added with his head lowered, “and let us pray for peace.” A brief silence followed and then more of the guests approached the small group, anxious to be introduced to the handsome young American representative.
    Knowing the importance of first impressions, Taylor tried to be as cordial as possible—but he was more than distracted; he was desperate. Where had she gone? His guide, Francois, sensed his impatience. Francois, already, had become attuned to the rhythms of Taylor’s speech, and however impressed by his maturity, he sensed that Taylor had suddenly lost his focus and he thought he knew the reason. He could see Taylor scanning the room, just as he watched Taylor’s eyes when he first met Sarah. In support of his young charge, he became generous in his translations with the group, adding depth and sincerity to cover for him.
    Soon Herman Lester, the Woodmere Industries manager from Chicago, came up to Taylor and greeted him enthusiastically, and then Francois excused himself. But Taylor was unable to process the words Herman was speaking, even though they were in his own language. Through the windows of the glass porch, Taylor had spotted Sarah just outside of the restaurant. He saw that she and some of the wives were eating hors d’oeuvres in the beautiful garden area, enjoying the coolness of the last hour before sunset.
    He tried to concentrate on what Herman was saying, but it was almost impossible. “There have been some changes to meeting locations, due to the late opening of exhibits and so I have had these memorandums delivered to your room…”
    “Herman, would you excuse me a moment?” Taylor was following Sarah’s movements over and in between the crowd of men in their suits. Herman, who had tried to ignore his odd actions, now turned to follow what Taylor was watching, and when he saw Sarah, he gave a sympathetic nod. Undoubtedly, he had been happy to meet Herr Berger’s